Before the Fall
by more-than-words
Summary: Harry senses a fall approaching and thinks that the best thing to do in the circumstances is to take a running leap and leave the rest to gravity.


**Some random flangst (fluff/angst), set after the end of S9. Probably nonsense, but oh well. Hope you enjoy :)**

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><p>A group of slightly drunken noisy people were engaged in a game of limbo while incongruously soulful, summery music played over loudspeakers. Harry Pearce stood a little way off from them, wondering where his team had disappeared off to, lost in a special kind of limbo of his own.<p>

He wasn't really sure why he was at this party, where the brother of a suspected terrorist might but probably wouldn't be in attendance. They weren't really expecting to find anything, but ever since his board of inquiry adjourned itself to deliberate written evidence, Section D had largely been given busy work on the grounds that Harry couldn't be trusted to run any proper operations – what with him being a traitor and all. He'd mainly been surprised they hadn't suspended him pending the decision, but he supposed they wanted to keep him where they could see him. And keep him on a tight rein, of course, hence his current occupation.

He just hoped the inquiry came up with its result soon; he didn't think this limbo nonsense was up to much.

Harry turned away from the increasingly tipsy spectacle in front of him and went and picked up a glass of wine from the tray by the wall. Then, deciding he didn't fancy drinking alone, he picked up another.

He hadn't seen Ruth since they arrived this evening, but he suspected she was off hiding in a corner somewhere, as all the sensible people did at mad parties such as this. He hadn't seen her properly in a long time, in fact. She'd been avoiding him. Harry couldn't quite work out if she was doing it to give the inquiry a certain impression or because she genuinely couldn't face him.

Well, she'd have to face him tonight. Harry couldn't stand this halfway house anymore and he needed to talk to her before he inevitably got pushed out of the service and lost his chance. Besides, this little social sojourn might as well be good for something. He had to make the most of what he had left, after all. Maximise his resources, as it were.

Not finding her anywhere on the upper floor of the warehouse where the party was being held, he made his way over to a flight of stairs that led up to the roof. He'd watched people coming and going from there and, given his and Ruth's propensity for rooftops, he thought it was worth a try.

When he stepped out onto the roof, he saw small clusters of people scattered across the large space. It was surprisingly balmy outside, with a warm breeze masking the chill of the evening air. This was clearly where the better part of the party was. Wasn't that what they said? The best parties were always in unconventional places. The kitchen, the stairs, the roof…

Looking around, he couldn't spot Ruth anywhere and began to feel a bit exposed standing there, holding two glasses of wine on his own. Then he thought to move away from the door that led back to the stairs and rounded the small built structure that housed the stairwell. He found Ruth there, standing at the corner of the roof. She was leaning against a waist-high wall, another one to her left and the tall side of the stairwell structure a few metres in front of her. Potted plants to her other side had hidden her from view until Harry rounded the corner.

She didn't see him straight away and so he took a moment to look at her. She was wearing a dress – black and knee length and unexpectedly clingy. Short sleeves. Nice shoes. Low heels. He groaned. He wanted her.

She looked up and saw him watching her.

"Hi," he said softly, and walked over to join her.

He gave her the glass of wine and then stood to the side of her, close enough that the sleeve of his jacket brushed against her dress when he raised his arm to drink some of his wine.

"Thank you, Harry," she belatedly said, nodding to the glass in her hand.

He nodded and watched her closely as he took another mouthful. He was feeling reckless. It was entirely likely that he would be suspended or lose his job outright before too long and the injustice of sacrificing most of his life to the service only to be kicked into the cold was making him feel selfish. It was frightening, and yet a strangely liberating sensation.

The music from the floor below was drifting out of the open windows and up to where they stood on the roof: jazz, hot and slow and sultry.

"Why aren't you dancing?" he asked Ruth, enjoying the flush spreading across her face as he spoke. It might just have been the booze she was drinking, but he doubted it.

"I don't dance," she said, looking down into her glass. Then she smiled self-consciously. "I can't dance," she corrected, avoiding his gaze.

He took her glass from her and plonked it next to his on the wall. "Nonsense." He took her hand before she could even process the fact he'd stolen her wine and pulled her away from the corner of the roof, out into a bit of open space adjacent to the collection of large plants so they'd still be hidden from prying eyes.

"Harry," she admonished him, but it didn't really have the intended effect. It couldn't, not when her fingers automatically wrapped around his in return as he tugged her closer.

"Shush," he said, and wrapped his other arm around her waist, lower and tighter than he might have done if other people had been around - if he wasn't feeling so suddenly daring, his carefully maintained pride currently nowhere to be seen. Whatever they said about pride before a fall was obviously bollocks. Pride before a fall made you nonchalant, boorish and stiff and there was no way Harry wanted to go out remembered for being any one of those things. He was fairly convinced that the only thing left to do was to take a running leap and then leave the rest to gravity.

Ruth put her hand on his arm and made a half-hearted effort to push him away before giving in and letting it rest there, her thumb moving lightly against the fabric of his suit jacket. She gasped when Harry pushed their hips together and slid one leg in between hers.

"I'm not sure this is dancing," she stuttered out, but she wasn't trying to pull away.

"Of course it is," he said, he hoped soothingly.

They shuffled to the music for a couple of minutes in silence. Harry watched Ruth's face; Ruth watched the open neck of Harry's shirt and studiously avoided his gaze. He wondered when it had got to the point where she couldn't even look at him properly. He thought to be sad about it, but then he decided that she wouldn't look at him because if she did, she might have to admit that she felt something. On another night, he might have conceded that they'd lost their chance and that explained the distance, but not tonight. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her evasion, especially now they were rapidly running out of chances to confront it.

"You know," he said, casually, spreading his hand out on her rib cage, "I'm most likely going to get booted out of the service before long."

Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing as she finally caught his gaze and held it, always so confident in professional matters. "You don't know that."

He smiled softly. "I'm afraid that I rather do."

She shook her head. "No. Harry, your career will speak for itself."

He felt an unexpected jolt of sadness and he knew she'd be able to see the regret in his eyes. "Yes, that's what I'm afraid of."

Ruth looked away and he watched her. She was clearly thinking, her eyes laser sharp and teeth biting at the inside of her lip. She seemed to have forgotten that he was holding her against him until he deliberately shifted the leg he'd placed between hers and the movement bought her back to him with pupils ever so slightly dilated.

_That needs exploring. _"And what about you?" he questioned softly. "Will you speak for me?" He didn't know what he'd do if she said no, but then if they were planning to properly lynch him, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted her to say yes, either.

The jazz track in the background changed from Ella Fitzgerald to Billie Holiday and something imperceptible shifted accordingly as they stood in the corner of the roof, still only just keeping up the façade of dancing. Ruth looked over Harry's shoulder and tightened her grip on his hand. "I'm cleverer than you, you know," she said absently.

An amused smile spread over his lips. "Yes, actually, I do know that."

The serious expression on her face killed his smile.

She turned her head to face the wall on her left so there was no possibility of anyone reading her lips from across the roof. "I'm saying, Harry, that you might think all hope is lost, but I don't."

"Ruth." He was aware his voice sounded rough and she would no doubt be able to hear the desire there. He just hoped there was enough space left for her to hear the light warning, too. He knew what she was implying with her cryptic words. She was smarter than him; she could figure things out that he couldn't. Hide things… Let his career speak for itself, as she had said before.

She turned back to face him. "There has to be something left to cling onto, Harry."

He was so, so close to letting himself give in to what he thought (hoped) she was implying. Was he to take it that she didn't want him to go down, because if he did, she would have nothing to cling onto and neither would he? If he was expelled from the service, they'd almost certainly never see each other again. Was that the cause of the sudden desperate sadness in her eyes? Or was it simple pity, a need to save him to prove that it wasn't all about sacrifice?

If he knew her at all, he didn't think she'd do him the disservice of the latter. But he thought the former might be too much to hope for.

But she was right. Without hope, what was there? It was the only thing left that might break his fall.

He took his chance. "That's a very nice dress you're wearing," he said, running one hand over the back of it, feeling soft cloth under his skin.

"Marks and Spencer's finest," she replied, as though she thought it really was just the dress he was talking about.

"You know what I mean." He pulled back slightly to look at her, casting his gaze over her face, down her neck, over the modest sweetheart neckline and beyond. Then he dragged his eyes back up to her face and waited until she pulled her gaze back to meet his.

She half-heartedly kept up the pretence that this was an ordinary, throwaway conversation, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "Well, it was this or something shiny and long from Monsoon, but I thought since – "

She didn't get to finish her sentence because Harry had pulled her against him and kissed her firmly, dropping her hand so he could wrap both arms around her.

Well, he thought as he justified the action to himself, they'd had years of dancing around whatever it was they had together. It was about time the dancing stopped.

Ruth responded to him after a moment, pushing her hands under his jacket and wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Then she pulled away abruptly and looked at him with a mixture of desire and concern in her eyes. "We have to keep this quiet, Harry."

He wanted to protest, to shout from the rooftops that he'd finally kissed her properly after years of waiting, but she had a point. It wouldn't help to advertise anything right now. But he wasn't about to stop when they'd just started, either. He kissed her again, sweetly, cupping her face with one hand. "I know. As long as there is a 'this'."

Ruth blushed. "There is."

"Well, now I have a reason to fight, don't I?"

She smiled and kissed his neck and it made a shiver run through him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous; he was relying on her and her brain to help him out, but there was no one on earth he'd rather trust. At least it gave them both something to cling on to, so they could live to fight another day, no matter what his inquiry decided.

A breeze blew across the roof and ruffled Ruth's hair, blowing it in her face. Harry pushed it back. "Why don't we go somewhere a little more private? The wind's turning," he said, "and it's starting to get a bit cold out here."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading!<strong>

**Reviews are lovely and, because I need inspiration/practice/something to fill my evenings, if you leave me a brief prompt, I'll write you a little drabble/ficlet. Cheers! :) **


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